


Last Summer

by dreamyloner



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, AmeChu, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Dysfunctional Relationships, FrUK, Frenemies, M/M, Multi, Parallel Universes, Rivalry, Teen Angst, school bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyloner/pseuds/dreamyloner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two short stories that intertwine with each other recall an extraordinary and bittersweet summer shared by four youngsters. </p><p>Human AU. High School Settings.</p><p>1. The Red String of Fate<br/>- Arthur wakes up from a coma in the ward and meets the last person he wants to see. He starts remembering things from their messed up past.</p><p>2. The Seventh Floor<br/>- Alfred meets a nerd on the underground one day. The boy makes him realise how much more friendship weighs than his own sense of pride.</p><p>Main pairings: Francis x Arthur, Alfred x Yao</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Red String of Fate

At lunch, more people rush into the ward. Yan barges in first. The raven-haired girl ties her short ponytail neatly in a peony band. It sprawls smoothly on her left shoulder. She dashes to my side and starts murmuring how she ought to thank her Shén for protecting me all the way.  She grabs my hand and I squeeze it instinctively. Her small palm is soft and warm like a newborn’s flushed cheek. She shows me one of her rarest smile that reveals her teeth. Her lips stretch like a thin, pink thread attached to that plump doll-like face. Following suit is her boyfriend Ivan. The big-nosed Russian wears his thick, grey scarf as usual. An old-fashioned, grey trench coat over his school uniform. Mud stains the floor wherever his boots have stomped on. He retrieves something enormous from behind his back and offers me a fifteen-inch GM sunflower. Without a single word, he fits the plant into the vase beside my bed. I can only chuckle “thanks” in response. He nods and flops down on the couch next to my brother, Alfred. Sakura, my Japanese classmate, bows and takes a humble, small step forward.  

“It’s good to see you awake, Arthur-san,” she mumbles in her thick Japanese accent and puts a teddy bear next to the vase. She adjusts the lifeless creature’s pose meticulously. I ogle her. “I saw the materials in the town market one day and thought I might sew something for you.”

The bear slouches leisurely against the vase, with a scarlet ribbon wrapped around its furry brown neck. Its eyes are made of dark blue buttons. For a second, it looks like Paddington. Oh wait…extra threads are sewed onto its face to make up two eerily bushy brows. I frown.

“Seriously? Even at a time like this, you’re teasing my brows!”

“I just think it would be better if the bear looks like its owner,” she explains with a small, breathless cackle.

“Please get well soon,” she fiddles with her fingers, her face painted by a faint blush that matches the amethyst flower pin on her left bangs.

Alfred sniffles. His glasses are coated by a thicker layer of fog.

They leave in the evening, when visits are forbidden in the private wards. I can’t go back to sleep. For some reasons, whenever I shut my eyes, that horrendous image of the truck crashing into me swarms my mind. I can’t get rid of that scene. It is partially my fault.

_I waited until the light flashed green outside Heta Plaza. My eyes were fixated on the new i-phone Dad bought me last week because he couldn’t even attend his own son’s sixteenth birthday. I was scrolling down the message box. Alfred was flooding the group with ridiculous jokes- something about Hello Kitty died because she had no mouth to eat. Yan was retorting him with all sorts of mean words. Ivan and Sakura were trying to engage in the conversation with their emoticons. I was running late for my supplementary class. I stepped onto the road and ducked into my grey scarf. Just when I reached the Pedestrian Island, my shoelace came loose. I halted. Slipping my phone back into my pocket begrudgingly, I bent down and started working my fingers on those annoying knots. It took me an awful minute to fix them. When I lifted my chin again, a sharp, flashing light leapt into my sight. I gasped and tumbled back clumsily. The honking sound reverberated. A large pressure fell on my shoulder. Someone thrust me aside but the head of the truck still struck my hip. I flew backwards, soaring high in the air. My visions went blurred. Everything drifted past me in discrete fragments. Everything turned black. I was tossed aside on the road like a dying animal._

The pain in my hip sears. At that thought, all my nerves seem to have jerked awake. The lingering effects of the tranquiliser vanish. My legs…my hip…my waist…my ribs…my chest…and my heart…they are all hurting like hell, as if a thousand nails are hammered into my flesh and bones.

The pounding of my heart pulls my lungs in. I can’t breathe. Like a swimming beginner drowning in the pool when the blister floats away.

I can’t block out the noise.

People yelled. Cars braked. **_Thump._**

In the end, my phone shattered into a hundred pieces. My rib broke. A dislodged elbow. Two broken thighs. A sprained ankle. A large patch of scraped skin. I was rushed to  the hospital immediately and transferred a night later into a private ward. I was in coma for a week.

I have no idea what happened to the truck.

Or to that person who shoved me aside. 

**oOo**

I drift. The dripping sound of my IV blends occasionally with the voice of my family and friends. My parents visit me **_once_**. They ask how I am going to take my final exams in such condition. I hide myself in the blanket, shut my eyes and pretend I am floating. A bubble in the air waits to be punctured. That day, I had just returned from a consultation with my class teacher. She said I did excellent work but probably wouldn’t make it to W College with my Maths grade. A principal’s nomination letter would be given to only one candidate. **_Him_** or me. I didn’t smile when she handed me the result slip. The number “2” ingrained itself on the last column of my overall ranking. I creased the card into a ball. As my parents say, _“it’s meaningless if you aren’t the first”._ A tear slipped out. Alfred got first in his grade as usual. He is a year younger than me. My parents sent him a “smiley” face in whatsapp. I was bound to attend the additional class my parents had scheduled for me before this shit happened.

After checking that I am still alive, my family leave the ward. My friends visit me a couple of times. They come when they don’t have to study or deal with the mock back at school. They are moving forward, like the train swishing by the station. I am stuck on the platform.

There isn’t much to see from my room. A plain sky. On perfect days, it is masked by a shade of azure which reminds me of the Sunshine Coast I visited on my last holiday in Brisbane. Other times, thin layers of smog or cloudlessness come. The ward reeks of bleach and disinfectant. Even my meal is tainted by medicine.

I ask Alfred to bring me some textbooks so that I can revise. He says “no” because I should probably rest for now. I say he’s just too lazy to carry my books. My only resort is sleep. As much as possible.

I wake up to find the last person I want to see. He lolls on the chair, his chin propped in one palm. He has my mobile in his other hand, scrolling down some games and apps.

“Hey!” I yelp, wetness in my eyes as the pain shoots through my left arm wrapped in gypsum. “Give me back my phone!”

“Bonjour, mon cher.”

“Don’t,” I snatch the gadget back. He doesn’t budge.

“What’s wrong?” he shrugs. “You used to let me read through your phone.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Visiting my best pal?” he smirks crosses his legs. _Ugh! How much I wish to rip that smug smile off him and punch his face- if only my arm moves_. “Kinda obvious eh?”

I snort. My first instinct is to toss whatever in sight at him. So, I opt for the pillow. He dodges. His laugh propels my second attack. A stainless bottle Alfred left yesterday.

“Hey! Stop it!” he yells back and catches the bottle.

 “If you’ve come so far just to tease me, well, you can leave.”

He says nothing. The victorious smile I expect never crawls onto his face. He takes out his phone, stares at his own reflection and adjusts his slightly dishevelled bangs. I roll my eyes.

 “I didn’t come to tease you, if that’s what you think,” he says. “And I’m serious, buddy. How are you feeling?”

 “What do you think?” I grit my teeth, my fist still ready to collide with his irritating face.

 He stands up and strolls around my bed. He stops to glimpse the half-empty plate on the desk. Traces of smashed potatoes and green beans remain on the grease-stained dish. He tilts his head to one side and scoffs. “Geez, was this your lunch?”

“What does that have to do with you now, MISTER?”

“I thought you would have something else,” he picks up the fork and twirls it, crushing its sharp end to the green vegetables. “Or ask me to make you a decent meal.”

“Well…that’s supposedly the best dish here,” I pout.

“But you hate potatoes and beans.”

The fork drops to the plate with a soft thud.

“You and I both know it.”

His eyes flutter back to me. They glimmer under the dim light seeping through the crack of the dull grey curtains.

“Hospital food sucks anyway. If I were you, I would choose something that appeals to me. Don’t you think that makes more sense?”

“No,” I swipe open my phone screen. **_Zero messages._** “Aren’t you supposed to be at school or something? Together with the others? Now wait a minute…you guys have Physics mock today, right?”

“Nah, I requested a leave.”

“What?” I widen my eyes and slip my phone back to the drawer. “Why?”

“Because I feel like it,” he laughs and brushes a streak of his side bangs behind his ear. “Because there’s something more important than exams?”

He reaches down to the ground and picks up a crumpled piece of black paper.

“Francis, no-”

He unfolds the creased paper and skims through the contents.

“Give it back!”

“Annual School Prom,” he announces in a raspy voice. “The Night to Build the Most Unforgettable Memories with your Teachers & Friends.”

“Hey!”

“You aren’t going?” he asks and pops his head out from behind the card. “This invitation card is for you.”

“Are you mocking me?”

My paralysed legs shift slightly under the blanket

“No, you’ve been craving for the prom since last semester,” he shakes his head and straightens the paper. “I just don’t see why you aren’t going.”

“Well, because I can’t freaking move, moron! If that isn't already embarrassing enough."

“But you can still go,” he retorts. “Because everyone else you know will be there, including me.”

“You don’t understand! I can’t go!”

“Why?”

“I just can’t!”

“Why?”

“Please! Can you just leave?”

“Non, why should I?”

“Because,” I sigh, “I can’t. I’m going to repeat the whole year. The whole damn year.”

He flops down on the chair once more, hands on his lap. His eyes never leave mine. They burn through my cheeks. The ward seems to have shrunk into a small box where the two of us are crammed in one corner, his presence threatening to infringe mine. I keep my head low. The nails leave crimson marks all over the centre of my palm.

“And you ought to be happy…”I say. “You will have one less rival.”

For almost a minute, he just sits there, blinking without a word. His eyes settle on a pile of practice papers I keep pleading Alfred to bring me.

“My parents probably won’t let me go anyway,” I add. “They wouldn’t want to see their crippled son appear in that sort of occasion when I should be catching up with all the studies.”

“I wonder why,” he suddenly asks, “you wouldn’t call me anymore. Or answer my phone. Or go out for lunch with me. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.”

I press the red button hard. The bell starts chiming. A nurse comes in promptly.

“Sorry, would you take the plate away, please?” I request.

She eyes me expressionlessly and grips the half-empty dish. The door slams with a bang behind her, filling the room with yet another moment of silence.

“So you study in the ward too?” he gasps.

“They want me to.”

His frown deepens as he flips over those pages.

“Mum wants to think that I still have a chance with this year’s exam.”

“You know your condition,” he mumbles. “Wow…you got full marks in all these papers.”

“I don’t keep those that aren’t A+,” I mutter back.

He laughs. I toss another cushion at him. The papers slip out of his palms. 

“Idiot.” 

He chuckles and gathers the scattering papers. “Arthur, I think you should know something- life doesn’t **_depend on_** perfect scores and rankings. You can still learn something from imperfection. Or you’re gonna miss out something terribly important.” 

“You’re one to say. You get first all the time. You literally beat me in everything, arts, sports, academics, hell, even in flirting with girls! Do you know how frustrating it sounds to me?” I pull the blanket up my body. “Even just by standing next to you suffocates me.” 

“But, mon cher, I never do what my parents ask me to,” he places the stack of test papers back on the table and grabs the bear. “At least, I never ignore my best friend.” 

“If you’re trying to imply something, spill it out already.” 

“I want to tell you that I’m not going to take the nomination letter,” he smiles and squeezes the bear playfully. 

“I’ve decided not to opt for W College. I’ll be taking a different route. Are you still doing what your parents want you to?”

He puts the bear down and turns to me.

"Hey, do you believe in the red string of fate?”

I shake my head.

"Yan told me this amazing Chinese legend the other day. If two people’s pinky fingers are connected by an invisible red string of fate, their feelings will be strong enough to keep them together regardless of distance, time and obstacles. When one tugs the end of the string, the other one will feel it and always reach them immediately.”

"It isn’t real.”

“I’ve known you since we were kids,” his voice lowers. “Arthur, do you remember what happened that day?”

He hunches forward, “When you left the school and I chased after you.”

_“Arthur! Wait up!”_

_I kept walking. My eyes never left the phone screen. The hip-hop blasting through my ears drowned out the holler from behind. I wished I could tap-dance to the music and forget about my supplementary class._

_I kept walking. My fingers never left the mini-keyboard on my phone._

_“Arthur! Please!”_

_I quickened my pace until I stumbled over my own shoelace. My earphones came loose on my shoulders as I bent down, working my fingers on that knot._

_“ARTHUR!”_

_When I lifted my chin again, there were lights flashing from different directions. The honking noise had never sounded so clear and loud in my ears. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. A gigantic blue truck raced towards me. I saw Dad furrow his brows as he scanned through my result slip. Mum’s lips pursed to form a disgruntled frown. Two metres. There was no stopping it. One metre. My feet were stapled to the ground. Twenty inches. My thought drifted off to the Mathematics mock exam I had taken that morning. I saw formulas. Circles. Squares. Equations. Everywhere. All compressed and crammed into a single page. Dense. Blurred. I spotted Francis in the front row. Writing fast on his paper. I gripped my pen and heard the screech of my answer sheet. My chest hurt. An uncomfortable heat shot up my stomach. The paper disseminated into pieces of falling fabrics. All the answers. Diffusing into the air. They didn’t matter anymore. Before me, there was only the truck. Threatening my life. I DID see him. Even only for a second. I did turn around, towards the voice hailing me. A voice that sounded ever so familiar and lucid._

_His eyes widened. They sparkled, just like the flashlights. The same ones I glimpsed when I scooted out of the examination hall. I clenched my eyes before feeling a large pressure on my shoulder._

_I knew it._

_He always has his way with me. His game. He always wins. **Always.**_

_He is the image I have been trying so hard to get rid of. The glue to peel off my skin. The string to cut off._

_But however hard I try, the string won’t come off. It’s tied to my pinky finger. Somehow, it’s become a part of me. The part of reason why my heart is still beating till this day._

_I heard a crack. An ear-splitting thud. I landed on the glass shards. They scattered like the broken pencil leads. Papers flew in the sky. The exam papers. My mock. My scores. They pierced into my flesh. My nerves. Before my lids drooped, I saw him. Lying there. In front of the dented truck. His eyes staring at me. Never stopped sparkling._

His eyes shimmer, the way they did on that day. Never leaving me alone. Always seeking answers from me. 

“Damn it.” 

I raise my fist and with all my strength and smash it onto the mattress. A dent slowly forms to match my slightly popped white knuckles. Like the dent he left on that damn truck’s head.

His voice is the bells I used to hear in the church on my Sunday’s prayers. Never fading. The lingering spirit that refuses to leave the graveyard.

“Arthur, do you remember **_us_**?” 

“Why…why are you doing this to me?”

Tears begin to trickle down, burning my skin like the hot moist air in every one of the previous summers we spent together. 

He wipes off my tears. His hands are cold but comforting, like the frozen popsicles we used to share as kids. He would have strawberry and I would have watermelon. We exchanged a bite and commented how the other one tasted better. 

“Because everything happens for a reason,” he says, resting his hand on my chest. “And that reason- has always been rooted here.” 

I never hear the clicking sound of the door closing. After sobbing for hours, I doze off in his arms. The very same arms that wrapped around me after I missed a shot in the basketball competition. Whenever my dad left a bruise on my arm because I didn’t score A. When I saw my first-term result and wept for the entire afternoon in the toilet. He would always stand there, right behind me, even if I shoved him away or glared at his report card. Even when I shouted and hurled my bag at him. 

He simply disappears. Taking the read thread with him. He has something I don’t have. And he has left it to me. A gift larger than any others resting on my desk.

The last thing I remember is his soft, sweet breath on my hair, accompanied by the light touch of his fingers as he drapes the blanket over me.

When I wake up again, it is already night.

“Dude, how’re ya feeling?” Alfred asks. He switches the withered lilies in the vase with a bunch of fresh roses. 

“Who brought those?” 

Alfred looks at Sakura. Sakura in turn looks at Ivan. Ivan nudges Yan. 

“What?” 

“You tell him, da?”

 “Why me aru?”

“Francis’ mum brought them,” Alfred says. “She came here this afternoon but you were sleeping. The nurse didn’t let her in.”

“Oh,” I nod.

"Okay, let’s talk about something else!” Yan claps her hands and jumps. “Guess what, Arthur! I did it! I finally passed Literature!”

“Yan,” Ivan whispers and clamps his hand over her mouth, “stop mentioning the school! You know how it distresses him.”

"It’s fine,” I smile and give her a ‘thumb up’. “You did well. If you ever need help with it, you know where to find the expert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Red String of Fate" is a popular Asian belief (mostly in Chinese and Japanese cultural contexts) that two destined lovers are tied/connected to each other by a red string. This magical cord may stretch or tangle but never break. Somewhat similar to the concept of soulmates.


	2. The Seventh Floor

"Hey, hey, do you know the urban legend about our school's seventh floor?"

"Really…at a time like this? Please!"

"You know how that floor is prohibited for access. Abandoned years ago after the school's garden on the rooftop got shut down. It's haunted. Rumour has it that a spirit, or some sort of supernatural being, roams there."

"You're impossible!"

"No, I'm honest. A couple of guys have encountered that spirit, made wishes and returned alive."

"Wishes?"

"They always come true. As long as you perform the ritual properly."

"What is the ritual?"

"Run seven laps on the seventh floor. You'll be drawn into another universe. They call it the parallel universe. What doesn't work in this world works on that side. That's how to make your wish come true."

"And if the ritual is done wrong?"

"You'll forever be trapped in that universe."

**oOo**

The sun hovers above the cloudless sky. Plain. Blue. The birds form a smooth symphony with the chirping cicadas. The girls continue whispering on the next row. Heat in the moist. I wonder why they don't switch on the air-con. Big drops of salty sweat dribble down my forehead, descending onto my purple collar. The fabrics adhere to my skin like Superglue. I reflexively clutch my tie and loosen the tormenting garment threatening to strangle me. My glasses are coated with a layer of dense fog. Arthur places his hand on my lap. A frown adorns his pallid face, bringing his two eerily thick brows together. His touch is warm and firm. The unsettling heat makes me cringe. I brush off his hand and glance ahead. The room is crammed, poorly-structured and old. Faded yellow skin peels off both sides of the walls. Reminds me of the abandoned classroom in the old wing. Where I met him.

 _It_ _was a hot, humid day in mid-July. The library was flooded with students aiming for this year's A-levels. I forgot to set the alarm that morning. Dad and Mum went on a vacation in Japan. Arthur hung out with his friends but didn't wake me. He always said I ought to take responsibility for my action, and that I ought to grow more independent and mature. I rolled my eyes, deleted his message and scurried out of my room. Brushed my teeth in two minutes. Rinsed my face with the comforting, cold water for a second. Tossed on my favourite Hollister shirt, plus a pair of dark blue A &F jeans in one go. Another three minutes for a toast and a carton of milk. I dashed out of the house slinging the dark blue Nike bag on my shoulder. I left the shoelaces untied and scuttled towards the underground. The scorching summer air pierced through my crudely washed skin. I started fixing my hair on the train, only to notice later my pants were unzipped. A snigger wafted from a high school girl slouching against the window. I grunted and averted my eyes. My cheeks on fire. I double-checked my bag and made sure all the textbooks and notes were in there. I heaved a sigh and leaned against the glass shield. I rummaged around my pocket and seized my phone. It slipped out of my fingers before I could swipe open the screen. **Thud!** There goes my i-phone 6S, I thought. A hand grabbed the gadget a millisecond faster. My eyes widened, instinctively scanning the bespectacled boy from head to toe. His hair was tousled and greasy, like mine whenever I spent two consecutive nights studying. He had a fair complexion though. Leaving the 1-cm thick glasses aside, he looked beautiful. Large, round eyes of chocolate brown. A slanted nose of average size. Thin pursed lips of red that usually belong to a teenage girl. But his shoulder-length hair ruined everything. It was tied messily into a short ponytail sprawling on the right side of his shoulder. And his out-dated dirty green T-shirt was an utter mismatch to his Bossini jeans. Also the white sandals that showed his feet._

_"Thanks," I muttered and grabbed my phone. Lucky the screen wasn't broken. I glimpsed the boy. His eyes went back to his Mathematics textbook._

_When I arrived at the library, it was full. I couldn't squeeze into the only spare seat in one corner. Blame the obese freckled guy sitting next to it. Damn. I scooted out of the library and gazed around. I checked every single classroom but they were all locked. My hand tightened around my phone. For a fleeting moment, I considered calling Arthur just to grumble. No more time to waste. I sprinted out of the new wing and the old, vacant building on the other side leapt into my sight. Ah-ha! I raced towards the unguarded construction. The floor creaked when I stomped on it. Some tiles were missing. Mud spilled out, tainting the bottom of my new sky-blue Converse. I hurried upstairs. As expected, there were plenty of empty rooms. Desks and chairs were mostly upside down, scattering all over the place. The kind of mess you usually see after a major drinking party. The board was masked by a disgusting layer of dust and wetness. I trudged into one room and nearly yelped. The shadow twitched. He lifted his chin. His glasses reflected the measly light creeping in through the broken window. This side of school was always an adventurous spot. They claimed that they would tear it down by next autumn. And in replacement, they would build an advanced learning commons and a swimming pool._

_"Sorry, didn't see you there," I gulped and entered this mysterious space that connected us. It felt different from when I saw him on the train. He had got himself a desk and a chair. He sat near to the window, to steal the light. He blinked for a while. Simply mute. Then a faint smile crawled onto his pale face._

_"Do you mind…er…you know, the library is full. So yea, I think I'll study here too," I chuckled stupidly. I must look goofy then, as Arthur always teased me. I couldn't stop fidgeting in front of strangers, not even before a ridiculously adorable "nerd"._

_"Sure. I don't mind," he shrugged. Damn charisma. His eyes fluttered back to the notebook that was filled densely with neat handwriting._

_I didn't know what came into my mind but I actually took a desk and a chair. Brought them beside him and flopped down. He didn't look up, his eyes concentrating much on those beautifully sculpted notes. I wished I could have a peek._

_"You're revising Maths too?" I giggled. He glanced up. Expressionless. The fire was back to my cheeks. I wished I had brought a popsicle. A fan would also do._

_"I recognise you," he said, pressing his glasses against his nose bridge. Was it just me or was it a blush on his face? "Alfred from 12A. You always rank first in the grade. Got the best casting award from the school drama last month. Saw you on an interview with the Student Council President."_

_"Woah, that's…well…I think I've seen you somewhere," I laughed. "From the next class maybe."_

_"I'm Yao," he nodded. "12C. You probably don't know me. I'm not someone important."_

_He turned back his notebook and grabbed his mechanic pencil. What a cute panda dangling on top!_

_"Don't say that. I think I've seen you a couple of times…" I mentally slapped myself. My thought automatically drifted off to the shadow I trotted past outside the toilet every breaktime. To say I had seen him a couple of times was an understatement. He was almost there all the time. Right outside the toilet. Surrounded by some bigger guys in dishevelled uniforms. I never bothered to stop. When I came out of the toilet, he was always curling on the floor, hair in disarray. Sometimes, a few bruises were visible on his wrists but he always rolled down the sleeves while tottering back to the classroom. If not outside the toilet, he was either sitting alone on a bench in the playground or having lunch all by himself near the basketball court, until of course a ball accidentally struck his face and his lunch box toppled over._

_He didn't say a word. Neither did I. I took out my stationary and textbooks. I flipped over to page 30, where I left yesterday and started scribbling on my draft paper._

_The cicadas kept chirping. A melody I couldn't decipher. Bathing in the hot summer air. I felt like walking in an overcrowded market street. Quite a few times, I unconsciously peeked at him. He was either writing ceaselessly on his paper or brushing the soggy bangs behind his ears. The smell of sweat attacked my nostrils. We were sitting a bit too close. He didn't raise a question. I let it go._

_Around noon, he suddenly stood up._

_"Aiyah! I can't take this anymore," he croaked, took out his rubber band and re-organised his black hair. He tied it into a tighter knot. "It's so stuffy in here. The weather is killing me."_

_"Well, do you want to take a look at the library now?" I asked, blinking at the slightly popped muscle on his slender arm as he continued tying his hair. "Maybe some dudes have left for lunch."_

_"You know I haven't showered for two days," he peeped at me and laughed. "I don't think they want me in there."_

_"You're really hard-working."_

_"I need to be," he smiled. He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out an old Nokia. The kind that only allowed calls and SMS. I couldn't believe someone was still using that!_

_"Meh, it's twelve-thirty. I'm off for lunch," he chucked the phone back into his pocket and stared at me, as if anticipating something. No smiles on his face. Just a blank stare._

_"Ah, screw it," I slammed the book shut. The heat finally killed me. "I'm off with you."_

_We dined at a local Italian café. My suggestion. He didn't protest when he could. All the time, he was shifting uneasily in his seat. His eyes wandered around the place like a child curiously seeking new adventures. They skimmed through the lavish decors on the shelves. The shiny silvery cutlery on the flowery table cloth. Those businessmen in formal suits and office ladies in high heels. His eyes twitched. His hands shuddered before they reached the beautifully crafted ceramic set._

_"What's wrong?"_

_"Um…er…" he tilted his head and frowned, "so…so many forks and spoons. Are they even necessary?"_

_When the waitress came, he could only stutter. His hands were shaking more now, striving to keep the menu steady._

_"Yao?"_

_"Can I…er…have a cup of coffee?"_

_The waitress frowned. He was still shivering, eyes darting everywhere except towards me._

_"What? That's it?" I blinked curiously._

_He blushed immensely, lids drooping as he buried himself in the menu. His lashes were peculiarly long for a guy. Without mascara. All the prices looked like daggers in his eyes._

_"He'll have a set A. Same as me," I ordered and handed the menu back to the waitress. She paused for a second before tapping on her notepad._

_"Alfred!" he hailed me in a whisper and shook his head. The blush deepened on his face._

_"It's okay. My treat," I winked._

_"No, this isn't right," he scowled and turned to the waitress. "Just one cup of coffee please."_

_"Two meal set A. Two cups of cappuccino," I reiterated and held down his wrist._

_He gasped, but before he could utter another word, I dismissed the waitress with a wave._

_"Geez, what's wrong with you?"_

_"What? Your stomach is growling. I can hear it."_

_"I don't have enough money," he spit out._

_"That's why I said it's my treat today. You can get us some snacks afterwards."_

_He sighed but said no more._

_After that day, we started meeting up in the old wing every morning. I could never wake up early enough to reserve a seat in the library. He said he had to take care of his three younger siblings before heading out to the study room. By then, no seats would be available. So we always met in that abandoned classroom. Sitting side by side. He was good at Maths and Science. I was better at Languages and History. We exchanged notes. Discussed and solved the challenging questions together. At noon, we would go out for a lunch break. I brought him to a couple of expensive restaurants and cafés my family often patronised. He would always tag along while fidgeting or rubbing his thumbs anxiously. He would demand only a drink every time but I would add more to the order. He would always blush and twiddle his fingers, staring down at the ground before I reassured him that he could pay for the tea later. The other times, he convinced and dragged me to some food markets in China town. Frankly, I had never tasted any street cuisine before (my parents forbade it). Never knew I would enjoy the feeling of being crammed into a small table. Watching the dense smoke and pungent steam coming out of the wok was something new. We always sat close to each other, so close his bicep would touch mine. When he did shower, I would smell his shampoo. The cheap brand they sold in any random grocery store. Once, I brought one home and tried it. The next day, it was eliminated from the bathroom shelf. Mum glared at me as she shoved the bottle into the rubbish bag. I liked how we weren't sitting opposite each other. That way, I could grasp a better picture of his face from a different angle. His features looked more gorgeous when viewed from the side. He said he had inherited his mother's eyes. The woman had, unfortunately, passed away when he was ten. His father was an alcoholic. Got arrested a year ago for smashing someone's head with a glass bottle in a bar one night. He had been living with his siblings since._

_"My aunt visits us every week. Brings us money and food," he said, munching on a steamed rice dumpling. His left leg was placed over the right one. Food crumbs all over his face but he didn't seem to care. I offered him a napkin. He wiped them off with the back of his hand._

_"I only see my relatives at big festivals. We always have buffet together as a large family," I boasted. He gawked at me with those large cat-like eyes. Unlike others, he never rolled his eyes and cursed._

_"I don't like my parents though. They're always nagging us. They got my brother into serious depression once. Last year, he got hospitalised because of a car accident. Has to repeat year 13 this year."_

_"I heard that," he nodded and scratched the back of his neck. He grabbed the bottle and guzzled down his coke. "But, Alfred, having parents is better than having none." He blinked at me, a wide smile on his face. I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or genuine. His eyes squinted as he gripped a piece of sweet and sour chicken with his chopsticks. Big hungry bite and swallow. I watched the chicken roll down his throat. Another big slurp of coke._

_"Hey, wanna join us for vacation next summer? Dad promises to bring us around the entire Europe after our graduation! If Arthur, Mattie and I all get into a prestigious university, that is," I snickered. "He said we could bring a couple of friends with us!" Never expected him to drop his chicken and clutch my hand. "R-Really?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"You aren't joking?"_

_"No, of course not. Mum always wants me to bring home some friends but I never do."_

_"I don't think they would want you to hang out with someone like me."_

_"Hey, it doesn't matter where you came from. I mean, sure, they're strict and all, but they don't give a damn who I hang out with, as long as my grades don't slip."_

_"Thanks…Alfred," he returned to his chicken and took a large bite of the rice._

_"I'll give you my share," I chuckled a little, adding a piece of my pork into his bowl. "I'm not that hungry, dude."_

I feel a tug on my shoulder. At some point, everything went wrong.

"Alfred…"

I stand up from the chair. Arthur grips my arm, squeezes it slightly and pats my back. "It's okay…"

"No, it's not," I whisper, so quietly he probably can't hear it. My vision is blurred. Straggling tears. It takes all my strength to lift my feet and tow them across the dusty tiles. Sobs and snivels resound in my ears. As I tramp closer to the coffin, I see his two younger brothers and his baby sister. All dressed in frayed black garments. Weeping into handkerchiefs or one another's shoulder.

_Those three months we spent together were the best memory I had. On weekdays, we studied. He worked part-time in the evening. At a restaurant near the apartment he lived. He would always come back with dark circles and drooping lids in the morning. But he never forgot his notes. At the weekends, I brought him to various places. Royal Parks. Botanic Gardens. Rivers. Parliaments. Statues. Monuments. Villages. I would pay for his tickets and fares. He would always mutter "thanks" till we parted at dusk. He had memorised species of plants and birds. He always smiled and petted the small animals whenever he saw one. Every week, he would spend one tenth of his salary on pet food. To feed those stray animals lingering near his home. "I can't leave them alone!" he would often say. "I'm one of their friends now. They depend on me!"_

_He had learnt a couple of tricks from his boss- a traditional Chinese chef. He made his own home cuisine. Many times, he offered me his own handmade bento. We would gobble up the meal on the cruise, or on a bench in a random corner of Disneyland. He could make trinkets out of useless stationary and paper. Once, he sewed me a Batman Plushie using fabrics from some worn-out clothes. I still have that plushie sitting on my nightstand. To me, Yao was an amazing person._

_November the autumn. Everything changed for good. The bell was ringing. In the midst of lesson transition, I bumped into him outside the toilet. We hadn't had much chance to chat since last summer holiday. He had no internet. No emails. We had minimum contacts at all. Or rather, I just didn't bother to phone him. I only met him several times by chance in the corridor. Whenever I strolled down the hallway with my classmates, ready to head out for lunch in the café, he would only nod, clutch his own lunch box and pass us without a word. I never turned back. His glasses seemed to have gotten thicker. His hair more tangled than ever._

_There he was, right outside the toilet, cornered by two tall guys and a short, chubby one. They forced him to tumble until his spine struck the wall. I stood still, mouth agape. One of them yelled profanities at him. He cringed slightly but never let a tear slip out of his eye. Another one smashed his fist to the wall, a centimetre away from his cheek. He stared over at me. Eyes sparkling. His glasses gone. Shattered into pieces on the floor. He wept and blocked the fits with his own arms. A hand dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. My feet were nailed to the ground. He shrieked and fought. He tried to snatch back his lunch money but to no avail. He peeped at me again. The boys whirled around and spotted me. This time, my eyes darted to the ground. I bit my bottom lip, jammed my hands into my pockets and took an enormous step towards the opposite direction. I marched back to my classroom. His whimpers reverberated._

I walk over to the coffin. The beauty lies peacefully in his bed, arms crossed over his chest. A faint purple bruise is etched on his left cheekbone. Faded slits and gushes line up densely on his wrists, like his own handwriting. The make-up makes his face more ashen than the cement. The dislodged elbow is still sticking out. Faint crimson stains his limbs. Some scraped skin remains unfixed.

_I was taking a nap in the study room when a loud BANG snapped me out of my reverie. A thunderous bang. Everyone else stiffened on the spot. Nervous chatters. Chairs screeched. People rushed towards the window. Gasps. Squeaks. Eyes fluttered everywhere. I shivered. Hobbled towards the window sill and peered out. A scream escaped my lips. The scarlet liquid dispersed like rose petals submerged in a pool of water. A ruby carpet sprawling on the ground. I remembered nothing from then on._

Tears drench my collar. I seize his frozen hand. Bring it to my cheek. No pulse. No twitch. Nothing.

_We held hands once. Inside a haunted house. A ghastly skeleton popped out from a tombstone, showing its glittering sharp teeth and distorted limbs. I squealed and flinched behind his back. He laughed. The wheels screeched as the cart rolled along the rails. I took his hand. Small. Warm. Smooth. Like a sponge._

_"Don't be scared. Ghosts aren't real."_

_"They are, Yao. They are! Just wait till you see those real ones!"_

_"Even if they are real, they can't be that scary."_

_"You're right…the living can sometimes be even scarier."_

_He laughed and squeezed my hand._

"Alfred!"

Arthur yelps. His bushy eyebrows. The fancy suit. Such a mismatch to this place. The guests gawk at me like I'm a runaway patient from the asylum. A wet blotch emerges on his shirt. I drop Yao's hand and scramble out of the church.

_"Alfred?"_

_"Yes, Yao, what's it?"_

_"Have you ever heard of the urban legend about our school's seventh floor?"_

_"No…what about it?"_

_"Seven is a lucky number. They say if one runs seven laps on the seven floor, he will be drawn into another universe. A world where wishes come true!"_

_"Seriously, dude? That's like the most hilarious joke I've ever heard."_

_"But don't you believe it?"_

Run around the seventh floor seven times.

Perform the ritual right.

Run. Pant. Run.

"Yao!"

Ivtrip. Prop myself up again with my elbows. Run again.

One lap.

_"Alfred, what do you want to be in the future?"_

_"Huh? Me? I don't know. Dad has something in store for me but I clearly don't care. Kinda wanna be someone professional and respectable, you know, someone everyone looks up to and aspires to be. Feel so good being awesome and outstanding."_

_"I see."_

_"You?"_

_"I want to be a nurse so that I can take care of my siblings when they are sick. Don't laugh."_

_"Then maybe I should become a doctor?" I laughed._

Two laps.

_"There you go."_

_"You really don't have to do this, Alfred."_

_"Relax, dude. I don't wear these clothes anymore. Mum usually just dumps them in some recycling bins."_

_"What a waste…"_

_"So, I might as well give them to your brothers."_

_"How can I even thank you for this…"_

_"_ _Make me another cup of mango pudding then, haha."_

Three laps.

" _You seem to have a lot of friends, Alfred…"_

_"Huh? What? Why would you say that?"_

_"I always saw you…hang out with different people... You guys throw so many parties."_

_"Oh those…they're…um…well…just people."_

_"Just people?"_

_"I have to socialise with them because our parents know each other. Also because they will probably tease me if I don't hang out with them."_

_"Oh…"_

_"Wait a minute, doest that means…you…you used to notice me a lot at school?"_

_"Geez, everyone knows you, Alfred. **Literally** everyone aru."_

Four laps.

Run.

_"Look, Alfred! There's a fortune-telling stall round the corner."_

_"Ugh, aren't you a science expert? How can you believe in this kind of stuff?"_

_"There's no contradiction. Not everything in this world can be explained by notions and theories. Just let me check my academic fortune first. And then friendship."_

_"Yao, I think it's better to trust yourself."_

_"It doesn't hurt to look for more?_

Five.

Almost there.

_"Is there a reason why you keep your hair long?"_

_"It's not really that long…"_

_"I'm just curious."_

_"Because my mum used to have long hair. I'd like to think that she's still with me."_

_"Oh…"_

_"You must think it's weird."_

_"Yea…I mean…she's dead?"_

_"Death doesn't make you care less about a person. If you do care. But it doesn't matter anymore."_

_"Yea?"_

_"I don't think I'm as alone as I used to be."_

_He looked over his book and smiled._

Six.

Please wait for me.

_"Sorry…did I nod off on your shoulder again?"_

_"You sleep a lot, don't you? When you aren't studying…or eating, ha!"_

_"I like to sleep."_

_"That's funny."_

_"No, it's not."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because it never hurts in a dream. Even if you fall off the seventh floor, Alfred. It doesn't hurt."_

I halt. Panting.

_"Alfred."_

His voice quivers. There he is. Forced to one corner. Like a defenceless squirrel preyed on by three bad wolves. They surround him. Prowling with snickers and swear words. Hollering. Smacking his face. His glasses fall to the ground. Trampled. Shatter into pieces. They grip his collar and yank him up. Drag him across the floor. A crawl mark on the wall. A kick in the stomach. People stop to watch. They frown and stride past. He cries. Tears trickling down his swollen face. He glances up, looks over his shoulder. Eyes on me.

Run or stay.

_"Hey Alfred, I'm your friend, right? Not someone you met only to **socialise**."_

_"Yea, sure, bud. You're different. Way **too different** from them."_

_"You mean 'special'."_

"Yao!" I push through the crowd and clutch one of the guys' arm. I twist it hard and shove him against the wall. The other two gasp. They raise their fists. I grunt. They punch me in the face. I stagger. Yao's hand grips the brim of my shirt. I wink at him and adjust my cracked glasses. I kick one of them hard, in the knee. He bellows and stumbles back. Yao stands back up, cowers behind my back. I stand firm, shielding him.

"Stop! Stop it!"

The boys shout.

"Help! Someone's fighting!"

The girls wail.

"Call the teachers!"

More and more people stop. They watch. They shriek. They cover their mouths as a front tooth of mine goes flying in the air. Yao is crying louder now, clutching my waist. His tears soak the back of my shirt. I smell iron. Strong spicy iron. His blood. My blood.

Their fists are clasped by larger palms. Their arms bent towards their backs. A puddle of blood slowly forms on the ground. Several teachers arrive to separate us. All the while, I see nothing but Yao's shimmering glance. His eyes narrow. Tears all over his face. His collar. His shirt. My shirt.

I shoot him a vague smile and wrap my arms around him. The faint traces of honey shampoo in his hair. Mixed with his sweat and blood. I like it. His chest thumping against mine.

He burrows his face onto my shoulder and sobs. Never stop quivering. Like a stray kitten coming out of the rain.

"Sh, sh…. it's alright. Everything's okay now," I stroke his back, despite the pain shooting up my broken arm. "I got ya, mate."

"Thanks…Alfred…thank you so much…" he blubbers. My arms tighten around him. If only he could see my eyes…my tears…he would know…

"I'm so sorry…" I sniff, "I was late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Seven" can be a very superstitious number. The idea of this story comes from my primary belief that one is able to change the fate if he tries hard enough, with the support of supernatural/spiritual forces, of course XD


End file.
